


Professionalism

by orphan_account



Series: Maid Verse [2]
Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think I'm like...this kinky, weird rich guy? For asking that you dress like this and stuff?"</p><p>"Only if you don't think I'm kinky and weird for agreeing to it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professionalism

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Medha again for being my beta <3 I've actually had this written for months, and decided to revise and post it today. I don't really plan on writing anymore, though, so enjoy!

Within a week, Wally had memorized from Alfred how Mr. Grayson took his tea, coffee and meals, but discovered for himself that Mr. Grayson preferred hot chocolate with marshmallows, that he would always want a second bowl of cereal in the mornings, that Mr. Grayson was actually entirely amiable and Wally had no reason to be nervous in front of his employer. However unusual or embarrassing his maid services-or truth to be told, companion services-were, Wally was treated well, and tried to treat Mr. Grayson with the same care.

As discreet as Mr. Grayson tried to be, Wally was starting to learn the little things that Mr. Grayson would give away, like refusing to eat, like downing cup after cup of hot, black coffee, like staying up late into the night so when Wally came in during the mornings, Mr. Grayson had deep circles under his eyes and didn’t seem half as interested in Wally as he normally was. But never did Mr. Grayson act any less polite. If Wally could hazard a guess, it'd be that it had something to do with the ever elusive Mr. Wayne, or work.

Wally knocked on the bedroom door rapidly and nudged it open, tray balanced high with Mr. Grayson’s breakfast and messages. As usual, Mr. Grayson was asleep, covers drawn over his hips, and snoring softly. Wally swept open the curtains, and Mr. Grayson groaned at the bright light shining in, turning over to hide his face in the pillow. Wally had the urge to wait and simply let Mr. Grayson sleep, maybe watch his muscled, olive back rise and fall in the sunshine, the dark bed head, the long legs twisted in the thin sheets…although it was Wally’s job to be admired, Mr. Grayson was a sight to behold.

And would probably be very angry if his maid let him oversleep. 

“Mr. Grayson, it’s seven and you have an appointment at 8:30,” Wally said. No response. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, trailing his fingers up and down Mr. Grayson’s spine. Hardly a day after Wally figured out that Mr. Grayson was an extremely affectionate person, and welcomed touch, he couldn’t hold back the impulse to indulge him, didn't want to when he learned how chatty Mr. Grayson would become. Pulling conversation from his employer was quickly becoming Wally’s favorite hobby; making him laugh wasn’t too far behind, but now didn’t seem like the time to crack a joke.

Mr. Grayson merely whined and turned further into the pillow at Wally’s touch. Wally rolled his eyes and started to add a teaspoon of sugar to Mr. Grayson’s morning coffee (only mornings did he prefer it sweetened) and put together his cereal (this morning, Honey Nut Cheerio’s. Wally was careful not to laugh at the fact that Mr. Grayson’s sugary cereal intake was monitored by his butler.). Mr. Grayson didn't usually have so much trouble getting up in the morning, often already waiting for Wally when he came in. They were both morning people, to a degree. Wally’s hand moved to play in Mr. Grayson’s hair, combing out the tangles sleep left, and that seemed to do it. Mr. Grayson stirred and sat up, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes for a moment before stretching and yawning.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Mm…” Mr. Grayson groaned, picking up the coffee to sip and beginning to read the memo pad of messages. He groaned again, this time more distressed, and tossing the memo pad aside in favor of his cereal. Wally shifted awkwardly, pulling down the hems of his shorts. Even though he didn’t mind the uniform so much now (in fact, he felt oddly naked when he was in the manor in anything but the satin and lace), it was a habit he couldn’t break out of, much like his habit of worrying over his employer. 

“Sir? Is something wrong?”

“Cancel my appointments,” came a muffled groan.

"I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to, sir."

Mr. Grayson froze and sat abruptly up, looking increasingly frazzled as he battled his way out of the tangle of sheets, and Wally was thankful that Mr. Grayson was too distracted to see him blush at the sight of his employer stretching and walking out clad only in a pair of silk boxers. Wally caught something like, "Gon' tell Alfred-" as the door shut behind Mr. Grayson, and Wally took it to mean he was to stay and wait and he didn't need to wait long before Mr. Grayson came back in with a box of Lucky Charms in his arms and looking more awake, but no less unsettled.

"My day's free so if you wouldn't mind...um.." he yawned and plopped back into bed, propped up against the headboard. "Wouldn't mind hanging out with me, that'd be great, Wally."

He gave Wally a surprisingly vulnerable look, and Wally gave him a reassuring grin, nodded, and poured a new bowl of cereal for Mr. Grayson, this time with the Lucky Charms, and crossed to the other side of the bed, sitting at Mr. Grayson's hip as he ate.

Wally wasn't a bad companion, really. His mouth usually moved faster than his brain, leading to some embarrassing, out of turn moments that warranted some scolding from Alfred, but Mr. Grayson found it endearing. He didn’t say so, but Wally could tell as much. Mr. Grayson couldn’t be called easy to read, but Wally learned fast.

Mr. Grayson sighed as he ate, silent and somber.

Which was a serious problem, because Wally knew for a solid fact that Mr. Grayson’s all time favorite food (comfort food, he suspected) was Lucky Charms, and it didn’t seem to be cheering him up at all, and Wally had to admit that it was probably his job more than cereal to lighten the mood.

Wally's hands moved tentatively to Mr. Grayson’s bare shoulders, encouraged with a nod and a smile that was a little more smirk than smile, even while sleepy.

By the time Mr. Grayson had finished his cereal, he was smiling a little, completely taken in by his maid's large, warm hands, the way they dug and soothed and worked out the tense spots, and Mr. Grayson had to wonder if Wally knew he was even good at this. So Mr. Grayson gave a low, groaning moan, letting his body relax, then cackled when Wally's hands faltered.

"You're really good at this," Mr. Grayson said, making the remark as casual as he could. He glanced up at Wally, who was sporting a flustered grin, and he gave him an approving nod. "It's just what I needed."

Was it hot in the room?

Wally felt like he was on fire.

He fiddled with the hems of his shorts again, glowing with a blush and large smile. His eyes darted back up from his knees, nearly choking up when they met Mr. Grayson's immediately, but the youthful, blue eyes still looked sadder than they should, and Mr. Grayson had never asked Wally to stay the day with him before.

"What's wrong? Sir?" Wally's curiosity as to what Mr. Grayson read in his memos rolling off his tongue faster than reason could stop it. But Mr. Grayson didn't seem annoyed. In fact, he looked relieved that Wally asked.

The thought that Mr. Grayson was a lonely person crossed Wally’s mind quickly, refused to leave.

And Wally couldn't help but wonder, couldn't help but worry, who Mr. Grayson had to talk to, and maybe if that was why he was even working here at all.

"Bruce isn't going to be home for another two weeks. Which I kind of expected, but it's…disappointing, to say the least."

"I'm sorry," Wally said softly, unsure of what else he could say, and Mr. Grayson shrugged with a sigh, moving on to nurse his coffee. Giving a sigh of his own, Wally moved to sit behind him, legs on either side, so that Mr. Grayson reclined comfortably between them while Wally continued the massage. Mr. Grayson whined and giggled when Wally's thumb found a sensitive nerve between his neck and shoulder (Wally apologized but felt a small victory at making him lose composure for a moment), but otherwise, they were silent, Wally silently savoring the victory of conversation, Mr. Grayson still moody, but slowly warming up to each other.

"Do you think I'm like...this kinky, weird rich guy?" Mr. Grayson asked suddenly, absent mindedly watching goosebumps appear under his hand along Wally's calf, coupling with the feckles in a way he couldn’t help but find beautiful. "For asking that you dress like this and stuff?"

Wally had long ago stopped massaging and had begun to play with Mr. Grayson's hair, trying to cheer him up, but at the question, he stopped. Then, after a long moment--  
"Only if you don't think I'm kinky and weird for agreeing to it."

Mr. Grayson gave a loud guffaw and turned to face Wally, making him bounce on the mattress with his exuberance. 

"Of course not! I think you’re really cool for it.”

His nose crinkled in another smirk as the compliment made Wally turn red and grin all over again, and he was just able to make out a mumbly, "I think you’re pretty cool, too."

"Dick," Mr. Grayson said in a strong voice. Wally's eyes widened, unblinking, his brain quickly jumping to being offended.

"'Scuse me?"

"Dick, call me Dick," Mr. Grayson insisted, taking Wally's hands from worrying his short hems to be held in his own. He chuckled as visible realization dawned on Wally's face, and it was funny how the blush made the freckles pop instead of masking them. Wally's freckles were beautiful. They probably went all the way--

"Y...yes, sir," Wally said with uncharacteristic hesitation. 

"No. Dick. That's my name. Alfred says we need a semblance of professionalism here but I don't care. Call me Dick."

"Yes, Dick," Wally laughed, quickly becoming at ease now. “Your name is Richard, though. Your name is RICHARD, and you settled for...Dick—ow!”

Dick’s elbow dug against Wally’s ribs, pointy and accompanied by a short cackle.

And so began throwing any semblance of professionalism out the window.


End file.
